


Fooling

by sangriche (mntyaggrssn)



Series: Venetian Nights [2]
Category: Anne Rice - Fandom, Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M, References To Pedophilia, character has violent thoughts, references to murder, references to rape, this is kinda fucked just read the warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 13:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mntyaggrssn/pseuds/sangriche
Summary: A prequel to Notified. Find out just what exactly Armand was up to before he met Marius that night in the studio. Part two of the Venetian Nights series.





	Fooling

Bodies contorted like a tangle of serpents fighting for air after being drowned; hands slithered above heads into the sticky air like forked tongues. Above it all, Armand watched from his perch in the darkest corner of the club’s catwalk. He was the owl in the night, silently, patiently waiting for the moment that a snake stretched it’s head out too far, the moment that made it all too easy to strike.  

Look. Just there, at the bar. He’d spotted it. A man poured a substance into the glass of the person next to him. The man’s thoughts were vile, heinous. Armand saw clearly how the man planned to take the man next to him home as the drug worked through his victim’s veins. He saw how the man fantasized about ripping his victim’s shirt away, how the buttons would clatter to the floor as he gagged the man with his own shirt. Perhaps the man would swallow or choke on a button. The evil man’s fantasy continued, and Armand couldn’t pull away. The man wanted to torture his victim, to run blades across his skin, to draw blood as he raped him. Armand couldn’t stand it any longer. Of all the vile things he had done in his extended life, this could never be one of them.  

Armand descended to the floor of the club with this knowledge, winding through the mass of serpents still hungry for air. The victim stepped away from the bar, presumably to use the bathroom, and Armand decided he would too.  

In order to avoid the prying thoughts of mortals as to why he was simply standing in the men’s room, Armand waited until he was sure the victim was at the sinks before entering.  

“You know,” he began, “the man next to you has drugged your drink.”

The man became a living statue, unaware that the hot water running over his hands was turning the light brown color a deep red.  

“Excuse me?” was all he managed to get out.  

“He did it when you turned your back,” the boy explained, “I don’t think you should stay here much longer.”

“How- how would you even know?” the man stuttered. “You’re just a kid!”  

“Please, trust me,” Armand pleaded. “There are strips of paper in the women’s room that will indicate if your drink has been drugged. Take one or ask the bartender for one.”

“I would hate to see someone so handsome get hurt,” Armand whispered, hoping to inflict the Mind Gift on the man. Luckily, and perhaps it could be attributed to the spiked drink, the mind gift worked and the man nodded in understanding. Once the man left, Armand hid by the entrance of the corridor leading to the bathrooms. While the evil man turned his back, Armand watched the victim dip a strip of paper into his drink, and the Dark Gift allowed him to watch as the paper turned a dark color. As the evil man turned back, the victim signaled to the bartender for another drink, reciting the line on the test strip. The bartender nodded, and made the drink before approaching a security guard, who in turn approached the victim, and led him away with the excuse of an important phone call. The evil man turned and attempted to hide his rage, and as he turned, he was met with the sight of the Botticelli Angel propped against the wall.  

Armand smiled at the evil man from across the bar, and the man’s fantasy blossomed again. This time, Armand saw the evil man pull his hair and run his hands over Armand’s bear chest before the boy had to look away. When he blinked, for an instant, he did not see the club. He saw the large, black eyes and robes of the Tatars and felt the grimy Persian rugs under his feet.  

He blinked again. The blink lasted long enough that he could feel the colored lights pulse against his eyelids, and when he opened his eyes, distorted 80s pop music flooded his ears. The beat was slowed down, and the dancers’ arms writhed above their heads as their hips rocked to the altered song.

The man remained unchanged. The atmosphere of the club had no effect on him. Like an animal who allows itself to be drenched by rain in the pursuit of the kill.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the man had to shout, even though Armand had stopped less than a foot from him. Armand shook his head. Even if they were not in a club, he doubted the man would have heard him anyways. He certainly wouldn’t be able to hear him while he was raping him.

“Come dance with me?” the man asked. He wore a suit with the top button undone, his tie loosened until it was a tangled knot. His hair and eyes were dark. He was unassuming, and perfect. He knew this. He knew he must remain unassuming in order to achieve his goals.

“I’d like you to come home with me,” Armand said, projecting his voice into the man’s mind and moving his lips in sync with the words. The man’s expression changed for a moment, almost too fast to see. His eyes grew wide, and an instant later his eyebrows  grew close, before he pretended like nothing was wrong.

“I was hoping you’d come back to mine,” he yelled, before tipping a short glass of rum down his throat. Armand nodded when he looked back, and started the long journey through the jungle of bodies to the front door. The man followed, and they appeared on the street.

“It’s like waking up from a dream, ain’t it?” the man said as he began walking down the street.

He looked at Armand. “You’re quiet.” _That means you’ll be an easy one._

Armand said nothing. He read the man’s thoughts for blocks.

_I wonder what the hell a kid’s doing out here. I ain’t never had one of them. I bet he’s a tight little virgin. Fuck. I wonder if he’s got family. What if people know him?_

“Are you from here?” the man asked. Armand shook his head. “Kid like you ain’t got any family?” He shook his head again. _Fuck. This one will be good._


End file.
